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Chapter 300 The Value of Sacrifices

Boom! The walls on either side shook with the explosion. Hundreds of holes appeared and a downpour of arrows flew in. Two groups of archers squatted behind the walls with black crossbows fit for the military. One needed the help of a pulley group to pull the bow taut. Shot at this short distance, the arrows were enough to tear down the wall before them and create a bloody path through the crowd.

Ghosthand roared. Like a flash, he transformed into a shadow and practically teleported countless meters away. His invisible arm turned into a beastly claw and blocked the storm of arrows. His speed was incredible.

The arrows shot forward and scattered onto the ground.

Boom! The alchemy arrows mixed into the flurry exploded. Red flames sprang up and overthrew the walls, swallowing Ghosthand. He flew out of the fire and landed heavily on the broken door. Half of his body was charred and blood seeped from his pores. His heart quivered and he spat out blood.

The room was ravaged. The machinery maintaining the Shaman’s life had shattered. The Shaman himself was on the ground, his flesh torn out by the broken tubes. It was unclear whether he was alive or not.

"B*stard!" Gritting his teeth, Ghosthand climbed up with difficulty. "Hey! Sir, are you still alive? Please don’t die."

"I…guess…" The Shaman cracked open his eyes. "Ghosthand, can you do it? I want another bodyguard."

"To be honest, I want another boss!" Ghosthand sighed. "I don’t think we should complain about each other now, right?"

"Oh, then good luck."

"That’s useless!" Ghosthand coughed out some blood. "Hurry up and take out your hidden tricks. The kind that can bomb all of them."

The Shaman looked at him as if looking at an idiot. "Would I have ended up like this if I had those things?"

Ghosthand sighed. "So you’re saying that we’re dead meat?"

"Yeah." The Shaman nodded. "Go. I won’t blame you. As long as the forest still remains, you will have firewood for another day."

"I can’t move anymore." Ghosthand shook his head with a wry smile. "I’ve been with you for more than thirty years. My bones are old enough to be used as firewood. I don’t need any forests. I just hope they’ll be merciful enough to bury me."

"What about me? You don’t care about me?" The Shaman widened his eyes. "So I should just be dried out under the sun?"

"Yeah." Clenching his jaw, Ghosthand pulled himself up and shielded the Shaman. "Sometimes, I really wish I could chop you to pieces."

The wind whistled and howled. A torrent of arrows suddenly broke down the wall. Ghosthand shielded the Shaman and roared. His invisible hand transformed into an ax and hacked down! This time, it was an unavoidable hardness!

Boom! Like a tidal wave curling backward, the black cloud of arrows halted and shattered onto the ground. Blood streamed out of Ghosthand’s wounds. Clenching his jaw, he waved his reddened arm to welcome the destructive wind and rain!

"Hey, sir," Ghosthand said hoarsely as he looked back. "Do you still remember what you said before?"

"You still remember what had happened. I’m sorry, I lied." The Shaman lowered his head ruefully. "No one stole that money. I took it to buy liquor."

"It was you!" Taken aback, Ghosthand grew furious. "I wondered why everyone was so poor. It was you who took our money to drink!"

"It’s been so many years so don’t mind it." The Shaman shrugged awkwardly. "Didn’t I pay you back?"

"I can’t feel any sincerity now!"

"I’m sorry, I’ve lied to so many people. I feel guilty and these are my sins." The Shaman sighed and coughed. "I’m sorry, I lied to you too."

"Whatever." Ghosthand shook his head and chuckled. "I’m…used to it."

He walked forward to face the roaring arrows. He chopped down and his invisible arm sliced the air, creating torrential winds. The incoming arrows were all blown away like weak waves that broke apart on the rocks.

Ghosthand shook. He was pushed back by the aggressive strength; arrow shards dug into his face and chest, ripping a gaping hole in him. Sticky blood flowed out. The ghastly red was menacing and ugly—he looked like a monster.

Outside the alley, there was the sound of metallic explosions. Countless soldiers had grouped from all directions. They were advancing toward the monster; cold light reflected off their spears and blades.

The Sparrow’s face darkened. He dropped his hand. "Fire!"

Ghosthand roared. The bloody flames quaked and blood-colored dragon scales appeared on his invisible hand. He grabbed at the thundering rain. The arrows shattered in his fist.

Boom!

His invisible hand was toppled under the rain of arrows. Ghosthand stumbled back. He was pierced by dozens of arrows. Blood spewed out and mixed into the dirt under him, turning it into a bloody quagmire.

"Sir…I never regretted trusting you," Ghosthand murmured. He wiped the blood away from his lips. "Look, people like me were born like dogs. There’s nowhere to go but the dog pen. I’m willing to do anything in order to not be a dog anymore. All these years, only you told me that no one has to live like a dog. Lowly people can have value and meaning too."

For all these years, the homeless fallen ones in the dirty sewer could only look up at the sunlight of the big figures. They wallowed in darkness with no hope of salvation or knowledge of how to live with dignity. But even the lowly ones should be able to walk with their head held high. Even if they could not bathe in the luxurious sunlight, they should go to the grave with pride.

This was a wild wish no one had ever thought about. This was enough.

This was already enough to satisfy one who had nothing.

"To be honest, I never understood what you said." Ghosthand looked at the Shaman with eyes filled with hope. "But I want those things called ‘dignity’ and ‘meaning.’ I lived for this, sir, and I’m willing to die for it."

"Idiot, you only have dignity and meaning if you live!" the Shaman roared.

However, Ghosthand started laughing. He welcomed the advancing soldiers and stumbled toward the ruins before him. "Sadly, there’s no more liquor." Ghosthand lowered his head and licked at his blood as if drinking. He happily recited a toast, "Hope there are more days to come."

Roaring, fire shot out of his bloody invisible hand. The flames burned at his body, turning it into a shocking red. Terrifying power surged from the old man’s frame. The strength coursed through his veins and body until he was bathed in flames. The weapons could not kill him, the storm could not break him—he was on fire!

If the gods were looking from heaven, they would see his figure jump into the mass of steel. The steel light in his path were dyed red. The red stretched forward in a straight line. It bloomed in the mass of metallic light. Like blood dropped into mercury, it was ghastly and wild. For a moment, Ghosthand was so fast he was a blur.

"Come, b*stards!" Ghosthand cackled. His scarred face was as menacing as a wolf. "The banquet has just started!"

The crazy old man was covered in injuries now. The horrible wounds revealed the white bone underneath as if he was a monster who had crawled out of a pile of corpses. He fought in the crowd, drinking bloody wine and roaring. Everything in his path was torn apart by his invisible hand, turning into a pile of ruins.

"Stop him!" Ingmar yelled from his stallion. His expression was twisted and fanatic. The commander parroted him. His voice sounded more and more laughable.

Boom! Blades cracked, armor shattered, bodies twisted, heads splintered, hearts were crushed. Ghosthand felled an incoming spear. He abruptly jumped like a bird and stepped onto the soldier’s shoulder. It caved in and the soldier fell to his knees. Ghosthand flew past the formation and pounced directly at Ingmar, his face bloody and monstrous.

Ingmar screamed. He twisted and pulled the commander before him. However, the commander shattered into pieces. Under the spray of blood, a red figure dropped from the sky. The invisible hand grabbed at the Sparrow behind Ingmar.

The Sparrow’s expression changed dramatically. He retreated and his cape billowed as he shot out a music score. The earth cracked apart to spit endless flames, swallowing Ghosthand. Within the fire, all steel turned red-hot and melted. The mud bubbled like liquid. Ghosthand’s figure instantly turned to smoke and disappeared.

"He died?" In the silence, the Sparrow looked at the empty hole. The fear in his eyes finally disappeared but the aftershock crept in. This was only an old killer close to death and yet he killed hundreds of fully armored soldiers without any music scores. He had almost killed the Sparrow as well.

The Sparrow looked at the silent old man and gritted out, "Shaman, you raised a loyal dog."

"He’s not a dog." The Shaman looked up coldly from the mud. "His name is Keirin Moria. Do not underestimate my friend."

In that instant, the Sparrow received a shock. A hoarse song traveled from the burnt dirt and ashes. It came from the faraway barren lands—it was a prayer by Theban priests. They offered fresh blood and sacrifices to beg the cold deities for a miracle. Thus, there was a miracle.

The shattered invisible hand was regrouping and the power hidden within erupted completely. Evaporated blood and fiery ashes came together to construct that figure. As if crawling back to the realm of the living after struggling in hell, the figure slowly opened his blood-red eyes and howled soundlessly.

"Once this thing accesses your body, you’ll truly receive Hell’s arm. You will have the strength you want and no one can stop you." Hermes’s cold and low voice sounded in passing.

"This is the strictest contract. There’s no turning back once you sign it. You’ll receive strength but it will gnaw at your life. You’ll become its food and prey. You’ll suffer day and night from the curse.

"After you die, there will be neither heaven nor hell waiting for you. You will crumble to dust without anywhere to go. Answer me, is this the future you wish for?"

Good. That kind of future was carefree!

Ghosthand roared and his shattered body regrouped. Blue flames shot out from his body, giving him strength and the furious fire of the dead!

Die!

This time, the formation of steel could no longer stop him. He advanced and shattered the rows of armor with his hands of fire. He bathed in the blood. He was no longer old or in pain; he no longer had human restrictions. With the power from the burning souls, he reached unprecedented speeds. Layers of armor disintegrated under a wave of his hand. The flesh under the armor ripped off in chunks and their hearts shattered silently. All obstacles were destroyed under his invisible hands. Only blood flew forward.

Amidst the endless blood, Ghosthand roared and charged at the Sparrow.

"This guy…signed with the life of the aetheric world?!" The Sparrow’s face was deathly pale. He gritted his teeth subconsciously and swore. He beat the drum in his arms with a rhythm from the abyss. The dead on the ground suddenly began withering. Demons grew from them and climbed up, charging at Ghosthand. But all the demons were nothing before him!

"Fire!" Sparrow yelled. "What are you waiting for?"

Black arrows rained down but Ghosthand did not care. He let them pierce his body as he tore through the demons before him.

One step, two step, he was advancing! He advanced slowly without any disturbances, charging through the obstacles.

Blood splattered and covered everything, dyeing it all red. The burning Ghosthand created gales of wind and thunder. Transforming into the god of death, he used his regenerated hands to tear into the military. He was unstoppable!

The Sparrow screamed. A giant snake sprung out of the earth. It opened its mouth wide and swallowed Ghosthand. But then it writhed painfully, cut open by daggers, then disintegrated.

Ghosthand roared. The fire he had received from the burning souls shot out. Blood increased around him and he charged past the last obstacle. The Sparrow was right before his eyes.

The Sparrow stumbled back. Layers of shields appeared before him but they were shattered immediately. Broken light was swallowed by blood chillingly.

Fire and wind emerged abruptly and charged at Ghosthand. He drowned in the fiery cage. He pushed forward with his hands and a melody shrieked out. The aether changed, transforming into different elements. The surrounding dirt rolled and melted blazing red steel appeared out of thin air. It created two incomparably sharp blades that shot out.

Damocles’ Movement.

The thundering was endless. The figure knocked aside countless swords with his bare hands but more descended from the sky, stabbing into his chest. He roared and shook. Pulling out the blades with his right hand, he parried and his invisible left hand whistled. The blade warped, curling backward.

The Sparrow’s expression changed. He barely dodged the blade coming for his head. Growling, he pressed down. Blood burned and melted into his music score, causing the blades to multiply by the thousand-fold.

Ghosthand chopped down. Countless blades flew backward and cut apart the Sparrow’s robe and drum. The drum exploded and the Sparrow screamed but Ghosthand charged forward relentlessly! Two arms fell off cleanly. Blood spewed.

"Ingmar, what are you still waiting for?!" the Sparrow screamed as he stumbled back.

Ghosthand closed in and his hands cut through the air. A gaping crack appeared in the Sparrow’s chest. Blood streamed and Ghosthand grasped his heart. It would disintegrate in the next second. But Ghosthand’s movements suddenly stopped. He froze in place.

"Oh, there’s a time limit," he murmured in shock. He watched as his body quickly withered and fell apart, cracking like a piece of pottery burned too long in the kiln.

He was so close! He looked at the pale Sparrow and then at the beating heart in his hands. Just a bit more! Just a bit more and all of this would be over.

Pop! His body fragmented.

"I still…didn’t do anything." A shattered face fell to the ground and lifted into a self-mocking smile. "Sorry, sir, a life as meaningless as mine…I’ve no value even in death." He was smiling but tears slid down his cheeks, seeping into the broken cracks as if he was a crying clay figurine.

"What do you people know? You can’t even look at the situation! You almost…" Clenching his jaw, the Sparrow looked down on Ghosthand. He stomped on Ghosthand’s face, one foot at a time until the smile was completely shattered. "The Shaman failed long ago. He failed, you understand?!"

A wind tunnel from the abyss appeared in the sky above him. An immense shadow flashed by, causing the world to shake. The god’s incarnation had descended in the shadow world. This country, this city, everything here…was destined to be buried in the abyss.

"Did you see?" The Sparrow looked up at the shadow earnestly. "You couldn’t stop anything! Everything you did was meaningless! You have no value even if you die."

"No, Ghosthand, your life wasn’t meaningless." The Shaman’s hoarse voice hung in the air.

Everything in the path of the sound waves froze. The Shaman rose from the mud and yanked out the tubes in his empty chest. He crossed the frozen world, stepping on the ruins and carcasses, until he was beside Ghosthand.

With a wave, the Sparrow turned to dust under the Modifications theory.

"Thank you, Ghosthand." The Shaman lifted him from the mud. His voice was harsh as grating metal as he said, "You helped me win time at the most critical moment."

Ghosthand forced his eyes open and clutched the Shaman’s hand as if grasping salvation. "So did I really…save anything?"

"Yes." The Shaman closed his eyes. Turbid tears rolled pathetically down his wrinkled face. "My friend, the fifteen minutes that you created saved all of Anglo and…changed the world."

"Really?" Ghosthand smiled. "That’s great, sir. This feeling…is so great." His expression froze. The cracks extended across his body and he shattered. His life spent, he turned to dust and scattered.

The Shaman stared at him, grasping the hand until it turned to dust and flowed from his fingers. He could freeze the world but could not keep this life here. Ghosthand was dead.

"My friend, the pain in your life has ended. I hope you…will receive eternal slumber in death." The Shaman looked up, allowing the tears to roll down his face. He glared at the abyss in the night sky. Raising a hand, he declared, "Open the Fifth Seal in my name!"